A Chance Encounter
by xXxRena-MariexXx
Summary: None could match Vino in strength and brutality. During one of the assassin's routine jobs he finds himself face to face with an interesting opponent. It isn't that Kohaku is strong; it's that he's strong enough to punch the man who believes himself to be a god. What an interesting person who leaves a lasting impression. OCxVino battle.


**A Chance Encounter**

_**Summary: **__None could match Vino in strength and brutality. During one of the assassin's routine jobs he finds himself face to face with an interesting opponent. It isn't that Kohaku is strong; it's that he's strong enough to punch the man who believes himself to be a god. What an interesting person who leaves a lasting impression.  
__**Rating: **__High T__**  
Warnings: **__Violence, gore, slight sexual undertones, alcohol use, sexism, language, crude humor  
__**Disclaimer:**__ "Hey, Isaac? This isn't Rena-Marie's story, is it?" "Why, I don't believe it is, my dear Miria."  
__**A/N:**__ Claire will never meet his match on the battlefield; that much is pretty obvious. But I wanted to see what would happen if somebody at least got close enough to lay a hand on the untouchable demon. What spawned was this lovely little piece with a lovely little twist towards the end._

:.:  
**Nov. 7, 1928; 10:10PM**

A clenched fist met flesh, sending the recipient of the punch crashing into a nearby barstool. The other patrons of the speakeasy stopped chattering and turned their heads towards the commotion. The bartender behind the ornate counter quickly moved away, as did the waitresses making their rounds. All things had gone to a standstill in the underground bar, the air was quiet, and none dared to blink for fear that the redhead would deck them next.

Smooth jazz in a nearby record player and the dim lights of the bar created a damn near perfect mood for the fight. Cigarette smoke diffused throughout the air, as well as the scents of several types of booze that'd been manufactured around back. The redheaded man that'd hit the other was standing head down underneath a light, hiding his face mostly in shadow. Anybody who'd gotten a close look at him would've said that a hint of red peaked out from where his eyes should be, and that the look he wore was frightening enough to scare even the most experienced don right out of his custom fedora.

The redhead leaned down towards the man on the floor with devilish look in his eyes. It was all too easy to pick on weak-willed petty criminals; they had no family in the mafia to cover their asses and held no loyalty to other criminals in the area. They, like the one sprawled out on the floor of the dirty speako, were Vino's choicest information sources. The assassin rubbed the tingling knuckles of his left hand and smirked at the crook he'd just downed.

"So," the man flinched at the sound of his voice, "ya gonna squeal, or am I gonna have to take ya outside an' help ya find the words?" The assassin's gloved hand itched to wrap itself around the thug's meaty neck and wring him dry, but unfortunately it would be counterproductive in his little quest.

"N-no! P-please, I'll talk!"

:.:  
**Nov. 4, 1928; 7:04AM**

"Eh? Who's this Darren Messer fella?" Vino cupped the phone receiver in the hollow of his cheek and shoulder and peered down at the letter in his hand. "It says here somethin' 'bout fishin' in the Gandor intel department. He got some sorta spy in the works?"

Vino had received a letter earlier in the morning at his conductor's locker, addressed only to Claire Stanfield. The envelope was fine, embellished with a gold stamp that told him exactly who it was from—not that anybody else would have the balls to send an assassination request straight to the redhead's locker. It would've been a stupid move and a possible death sentence for anybody outside of family since it risked his secret identity. Luck Gandor, thankfully, counted as family and was off limits.

The smooth voice of Luck erupted from the payphone, loud enough that Vino had to move the speaker away from his ear with a wince. It was just as well that as soon as the receiver left his ear, a particularly loud automobile rolled by, drowning out the youngest Gandor brother's words.

"Sorry, Lucky. Didn' quite catch what ya said; some greaseball just sped by. Care t' repeat that?" Vino prepared for the inevitable sigh followed by a lecture.

"Are you usin' a street payphone to conduct business again?" Sigh. "You know that's in bad taste. What if someone were to hear you? We'd be in trouble if the Gandor name was associated with Vino the assassin." How else was he supposed to get a hold of his adopted brother with questions about the assignment? It wasn't his fault that Keith was so damned vague when it came to the briefing letters.

"Then I'll introduce myself as Claire Stanfield an' say it was all a big joke 'tween brothers." Vino waved his hand dismissively, despite a lack of audience. "Not like I'd tell them who I was on the job anyways; it's a bad way to make friends."

"I'd believe you if you didn't dick around by announcin' your assassination work like it was a joke."

The redhead could almost feel the gangster's disdain rolling from the phone. Normally Vino would mock offense, but the assassin merely chuckled. Anyways, enough fooling around; it was time to get down to business. The letter he'd received had demanded the death of a Chicago crime lord by the name of Darren Messer—no mob connections. The man had apparently slipped in one of his goons to feed him information about the Gandor family and eventually assassinate Luck. The snitch had since been dealt with, but Keith had decided to address the problem at its root.

"This Darren fella, the letter never gave an address, an' ya know I don't like goin' int' a hit half-cocked. Did Berga's interrogation of the plant get us anythin'?"

"Nothin'."

Vino leaned up against the clear glass of the phone booth and sighed. "Alright. I'll do some sniffin' 'round the underground when I get to Chicago. The train leaves in an hour, so I should be there… I dunno, three days, give or take."

"I'll be expectin' another call." The other line went dead.

Vino hooked the receiver back onto the old payphone. The redhead stepped from the little phone booth and replaced his conductor's hat with pride. He may be an assassin, but he also had an image to uphold as one of the finest conductors from the transcontinental express, the 'Rail Runner'. A few girls giggled at him and blushed as they walked by, clearly liking his clean-cut appearance. He reddened a little around the ears but gave them a friendly wave, igniting a new set of giggles. If all Detroit gals were as frisky, maybe he'd have to make an effort to actually explore the city his next time around, he thought while making his way back to the station. The assassin clenched the letter in his hand and smirked; he had a job to do at the moment.

:.:  
**Nov. 7, 1928; 3:31AM**

Tony, the elder conductor who'd taught the young conductor everything he knew, settled onto one of the cushy chairs with a sigh. The ride from Detroit to Chicago was unusually chaotic, involving cutting through a high wind thunderstorm that'd rocked the train. The two conductors had to make their rounds, assuring all passengers from third class to first that the train would arrive at its destination safely and without delay. The trek up and down the Runner had irritated the semi-forgotten ache in Old Tony's back. A weary hand began rubbing the pain away.

Tony's pupil, Claire Stanfield, was sitting quietly in his own chair. The redhead was unusually sedate that night; normally he'd be up and animated, gushing about some new urban legend he'd picked up in the previous city. The kid was a Class-A goofball and could be very endearing, even if the sense of humor he possessed was slightly morbid and crazy. Claire was in brooding mode, hands laced at the fingers and firmly tucked under his chin.

Tony turned to the young conductor and gave him a small smile. "Something bothering you, m'boy?"

Claire's brown eyes snapped up to meet Tony's and the boy shook his head. "No. I was just thinkin' 'bout this creep I read up on in the paper back home."

"Oh?"

The redhead's hands began accompanying his speech, painting a picture. "Yeah. Goes by the name Darren Messer—a real scumbag if ever I knew one. Thing is, he's holed up in Chicago, makin' money off booze an' crimes like murder, arson, kidnappin'." The young conductor began listing the things off on his fingers. "It just makes me feel a lil' unsafe since that's where we're headin'."

Tony gave the boy an understanding look and swiveled the chair around to face him. "Seems to me like it'd be best to stay with the train until departure then."

"That's the issue, though, Tony. I gotta deliver a letter to an old friend." Claire procured a wrinkled envelope with golden trim from his uniform pocket. "I just wanna know what places t' avoid, and since you've been t' Chicago plenty, I figured you could help me out."

The old conductor, oblivious to his pupil's satisfied smirk, gave into the redhead's story and began telling him about the seediest parts of Chicago. Tony would be none-the-wiser about the fact that Claire had just milked him for information using one of the oldest tricks in the book. He also wouldn't come to figure out that he was updating the assassin Vino about the best places to gain information in the criminal underworld. The puppy-eyed kid before him would remain innocent in his eyes until the day he died, and Claire was content in keeping it that way. He loved Tony too much to tell the old guy the truth.

When the possible locations of several underground bars had passed from his mentor's lips, and the roughest neighborhoods had been listed, Claire faked a yawn and thanked Tony for the information. The redhead then walked towards the conductors' room and slept until the train arrived at the station in Chicago. Before closing his eyes Vino smirked.

"The White Dragon, huh? Sounds interestin'."

:.:  
**Nov. 7, 1928; 10:12PM**

In the White Dragon, Vino chuckled sadistically at the fear the man beneath him displayed. All it had taken was a punch and a little threat and the man was ready to sing like a canary! The redhead reached down and clenched the front of the squealer's suit shirt, hefted him up, and pinned him against the bar counter. This was the main reason he detested these petty thugs: no loyalty whatsoever. Everybody in the Martillos and Gandors would sell themselves to keep a brother or sister safe. The assassin pulled a crumpled black and white photograph from his overcoat pocket and shoved it in the other man's face.

"Now, you're gonna tell me all ya know 'bout this man. Got it?" The bar was completely quiet now, sans the sound of the jazz record ending and skipping. The customers that hadn't fled at the redhead's violent outburst stuck around only to see what would happen. None would try to rescue the little lone rat in the cat's clutches.

Said rat nodded and peered at the photo. "T-this is D-Darren M-M-M…"

"I know his name. Tell me where he lives," Vino demanded, impatient with the man's terror. "You won't get another chance." The assassin's hand itched to take the coward out. A glance around the room would've been enough to tell him that the other patrons wouldn't have cared. Maybe his informant was universally hated?

"He lives just south of the city," a new voice spoke up. One of the young waitresses stepped forward, but kept her distance.

"Oh?" Vino let the man before him drop to the ground and turned towards the buxom beauty. "Got anythin' more specific than that, doll?"

"Ten miles out on the highway. Turn left when you see an ornate metal sign with a brick foundation." The brunette waitress bravely reached forward to put a hand on Vino's shoulder. Her touch was gentle, coaxing. "Now please leave Johnny alone, alright?"

Pleasantly enough, Vino thanked the woman and stepped away from the man on the ground. So maybe the worm wasn't universally hated, but Vino still didn't particularly care for his type. Criminals were generally better off rotting in a ditch somewhere, from the assassin's experiences, especially the type like the man before him.

:.:  
**Nov. 7, 1928; 8:23AM**

Claire Stanfield always made it habit to get the newspaper in whatever city the train stopped in, if only to keep up with the outside world. Working on the Rail Runner could get monotonous, and sometimes caused the young conductor to lose track of the days. So, whenever the train met the station in Chicago and all of the passengers were ushered off to begin preparations for the next leg of the journey, Claire made his way to the front office to buy a paper. _The Chicago Gabber_ was a little paper handed out on the corner for five cents, and generally was viewed as more of a gossip rag than anything. Normally the conductor would've gone for something more substantial, like the _Windy City Report_, but that day he really didn't care about stocks and baseball. He needed gossip.

With the paper secured under his arm and the boy at the corner five cents richer, the redhead made his way to the changing rooms. He didn't want to get the uniform dirty on this particular outing, especially since he wasn't good at cleaning the blood out of white clothes and a stain on his conductor's symbol of pride was a no-no. Claire placed the folded garb into his temporary locker and began sifting through the articles, looking for something juicy. He'd need someone who'd spill information, and the petty crooks in the papers were always prime suspects, due to the fact that accidentally killing them during grilling wouldn't rest on his conscious, nor would it be a big loss to the city overall.

"Johnny Bachelli," Claire tested the name aloud. The man was currently wanted by the PD on rape charges. He'd do nicely, given that he wasn't involved with the mafia. Poking the Chicago hornet's nest wasn't exactly on the top of the redhead's to do list. "This guy was last spotted near Tony's estimate of the White Dragon's location. Could end up bein' worth lookin' into." Claire shrugged and began pulling on his black overcoat.

The happy-go-lucky redhead conductor with a penchant for telling ghost stories- and making a fool out of himself in front of women- balled up the paper and tossed it in a nearby garbage can. He would leave the station as Vino, the bloodthirsty assassin.

"Maybe I should have a chat with this Johnny fella."

:.:  
**Nov. 8, 1928; 12:05AM**

The lights on automobiles flashed as Vino and his newest companion raced down the highway outside of Chicago. The redheaded assassin had left Johnny the Rapist curled up on the floor of the White Dragon, along with the lovely server girl that'd saved his life, nearly an hour and a half prior to his road trip. It had been less than that time since he'd tipped off the Chicago police about Johnny's whereabouts. He'd then promptly hitched a ride in the side car of a cyclist who was heading out towards the Messer estate.

Fortunately, the man in the motorcycle hadn't asked why Vino would want to visit the home of a well-known dirt bag so late in the evening—or early in the morning, if you were a stickler for details. The redhead leaned back and enjoyed the sensation of the wind on his face. It was slightly cool, but refreshing after being cooped up in the stuffy White Dragon. The loud roar of the motorcycle did ruin the assassin's concentration slightly, but he was thoroughly impressed by the speed it went and the fact that he'd gotten a ride from a stranger in the first place. Granted, it was _his_ world in the first place, so somebody had to bend to his will and offer him one eventually.

The cyclist stopped before a decadent iron gate that'd been crafted to look as though ivy was crawling up it. Red bricks gave the entrance away as the one he'd been told of. Vino smirked and exited the sidecar, but not before paying the cyclist handsomely for his services. The assassin didn't even look behind him as his newest friend sped off into the night.

The entrance was in a secluded area, one surrounded by thick trees and on a part of the highway that was less travelled. Vino smirked. This would be the perfect hit; no witnesses and the freedom to play with his target however he pleased. He really didn't care for collateral damage in the form of unnecessary killing. He was against killing servants and neighbors whose only crime was stumbling upon the wrong place at the wrong time. Killing innocents period pissed him off. This Messer guy, though, he was the perfect prey.

The run to the large manor past the forest was done discretely through the trees, rather than up the long drive. Vino was a master in stealth when it came to the hunt, not so much during the kill though. He tended to leave quite the mess. The redhead snuck around the back of the mansion, hiding in the underbrush. The sight of a stable and a handful of men in black suits greeted him; bodyguards of the highest caliber. So, the man had heard about his snitch's death and planned ahead for possible retaliation from the Gandors? Smart, but not smart enough. If Messer believed his little motley crew could even touch _the_ Vino, then he had another thing coming.

The redhead sprinted up behind one of the guards when he was left alone, careful to remain as quiet as possible, before clamping a hand over the man's mouth. Too easy. Vino's hidden knife plunged into the man's thigh. A muffled yell burst out of the victim's lips as a trail of hot blood began pooling on the ground beneath them from the severed artery. He struggled in the grip of the wiry assassin behind him, but to no avail.

Then, the assassin whispered into his ear, grinding the tip of the blade against the bone in his leg. "Tell me. How many of ya are there? I wanna take all you guys out before playin' with Messer." The blade travelled to the same spot on the opposite leg and began digging in very slowly.

"Ten?" The blade broke skin.

"Fifteen? Twenty?" Then the bodyguard yelled out and began nodding furiously into the assassin's black gloved hand.

Vino chuckled and removed his knife. "Twenty it is, then. And your boss?" The bodyguard gestured madly with his hands towards a lit room in the manor. Vino wiped the knife off on a clean part of the bodyguard's pants, which were quickly becoming saturated with his blood and other fluids. The thought made Vino wrinkle his nose in disgust. No doubt the man was thinking he was saved, but the assassin had other ideas. The knife was stored away and the other man immediately relaxed. Idiot; Vino didn't need a weapon to kill his targets.

With that, the assassin reared back his hand and thrust it through his captive's chest from behind. The telltale gurgle told Vino that he'd hit the lungs, but missed the heart. Both were equally fatal, but one was longer-lasting. The redhead released the bodyguard, leaving him to tumble into the growing pool of his own blood, a new hole coloring his chest crimson.

"Y'know, disloyal bastards like ya aren't even worth the time it takes t' sharpen my blade." Vino stared at his own left arm, which was covered in blood, and scowled. Damn dogs. If you had a job, you were loyal to your master until you were either dead or finished, no matter how distasteful you found the man you serve.

With one last shuddering breath, the man gurgled out, "Y-you may have… beaten… me, but K-Kohaku w-won't be so… easy to take down..."

Vino smoothed the blood-covered lapels of his overcoat and slicked back his hair, snorting in amusement. Funny last words. "Kohaku, huh? I've heard of him before." The assassin heard the footsteps of another meathead rounding the corner of the building and moved to take him out as well. Maybe this 'Kohaku' would provide a slight challenge. But he'd never be able to beat Vino, who was completely untouchable in his own world.

:.:  
**Sep. 12, 1928; 5:46PM**

Clair Stanfield had taken the week off, both from his conducting and assassination work. It was one of the few times he got to spend with his family. His week off would be spent at the lovely underground Gandor Club, drinking down glasses of irony and playing poker with his adoptive brothers. Of course he never won, seeing as how Luck's name was right on the money, Keith cheated like a pro, and Berga smashed the table every other game and a new one had to be ordered before they could play again.

Berga's poker face was cracking more and more as the amount of booze that entered his system escalated. It was easy to see that he'd been dealt a 'shit hand', and that he was about to drop a bomb. Claire had been watching rather than playing the last few rounds, preferring to keep to the less intoxicating Italian wine. The redhead was in good spirits and laughed as the fourth table broke under the middle brother's incredible strength.

"Chill, Berga! It ain't like tables grow on trees…" Claire snickered. "Oh, wait! They do."

"Oh, haha. We've got ourselves a wisecracker," Luck Gandor stated dryly. "And as usual, his cracks are lukewarm."

"Can't say I didn't try." Claire shrugged and sipped his wine like the cultured gentleman he was. "Besides, you wanna hear a real zinger? Keith had not one, not two, but _three_ aces up his sleeves! And I ain't talkin' 'bout plans neither. Ever wonder where spades, clubs, and diamonds went?" His keen assassin eyes came in handy sometimes.

Keith snorted at the accusation and bent to retrieve the cards that'd fallen on the floor at Berga's outburst. Claire couldn't help but notice how he casually slipped the aces from his sleeves and into the mess of cards. Really, his brothers were pretty swell guys that never failed to entertain him.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of this little visit, Claire? Last I checked, you were workin' for some jilted lover in Sacramento," Luck stated.

"'Ey! That lover of hers turned out to be the governor, so the pay was grade-A. Not only that, but the contractor herself was pretty lovely."

"Did you propose to her?" Damn that Berga! Claire's eyes narrowed.

"And if I did?" The assassin did his best to ignore the sighs and groans that rose from his brothers.

"Damn it, Claire! You don't just drop the question on a stranger. It's like bringin' a weddin' cake for the first date." Claire had a nasty habit of popping the big question on just about any female he ran across. It was like his go-to pick up line. More often than not, it was followed by a simple rejection. Other times, the girls thought he was teasing and the assassin ended up with a red cheek. It was a good thing he bounced back fast.

The redhead flushed the color of his hair and tried to evade the discussion of his love life. "Anyways, I wanted t' come and see you guys, not talk 'bout work. I've had enough assassinations just this past month t' last me a lifetime."

Keith snickered as Berga began picking up the remnants of their table. "Done killin' off tha bad people, eh? Y'know, we asked ya why ya still did that work. Remember your answer?"

"'Cuz there are more evil people out there to punish'," Luck supplied, pouring himself a shot glass. "You always did have that warped sense of justice, Claire."

Claire rolled his eyes and downed the remnants of his wine in one gulp. "It's my self-given right to punish them. Ya don't know the crap this governor was pullin' with one of his daughters-!"

"An' we don' wanna know," Keith interjected.

"Anyways," the redhead continued, "I got bored."

"Good reason." There was silence in the Gandor's club for a few minutes before Luck spoke up again. "I know you don't want to talk about work, but there's something you should know about," he cast a look at the other two Gandors, "that we've been hearin' about lately.

The three Gandors suddenly got serious. Claire crossed his legs and uncrossed them again at how uncomfortable the situation had become. Here, he'd been expecting to come home and relax and his brothers were freaking out about something. It wasn't like he hadn't heard their warnings before, but he didn't know why they still bothered; he was the god of his own world and nothing could touch him, let alone kill him. Then again, his mind had programmed these particular specters to have over-the-top brotherly instincts, as evidenced by their previous behavior. He could humor them in the least.

"Watcha worried 'bout now?"

"There's a new guy on the scene in your business. Calls himself Kohaku, or somethin' like that—he's supposed to be a ninja, accordin' to the rumors. He'd bad news, Claire; he took out some assassin in Texas."

Claire chuckled. He wondered briefly what that would look like: a ninja verses and acrobat. It'd be pretty cool to try, he must admit. "I'll keep an ear about for him."

"He's supposed to be the best damned bodyguard money can hire."

"Yeah," the redhead stated, "well I bet I'm a better assassin. Anyways, how've the Lady Gandors been?"

Claire had left the club slightly intoxicated, feeling worse about his single status, and entirely interested in this so called ninja. Maybe someday he'd go toe-to-toe with the man himself. The assassin smirked and wandered the streets of New York for something to eat.

:.:  
**Nov. 8, 1928; 12:25AM**

So, he was finally going to meet this Kohaku? Vino grinned and wiped the warm blood of his third victim from the knife in his hand. It was possible that he'd have to forgo killing all of the bodyguards first in favor of taking out the best of the best then moving onto Messer. He could always toy with the bodyguards afterwards, but he had to make sure the target was eliminated and that he could make it back to the station before the train departed at 8:00AM. If he had to track down all 18+ men, he could end up spending most of the six hours he'd allotted himself. With a sigh, Vino closed the knife and hid it in one of the pockets of his bloodstained overcoat. The black did a good job hiding it, but the assassin could feel it soaking into his skin.

He stepped from the bloodied stables that he'd hidden the bodies in. In the dark any other passing guards wouldn't be able to spot anything amiss, so his presence should remain hidden for quite some time. In any case, Vino was fast approaching the house, called in by a single open window that lead into what he suspected to be the back hallway of the left wing. He effortlessly flipped onto the ledge and landed in the hallway without a sound. Directly above him, on the third floor was his target.

"…And so I says to 'er that she ain' got no class. Any Joe with no eyes coulda seen it!" Vino snapped into the dark entryway of a nearby door when he heard the sound of a man's voice. Two sets of footsteps were coming down the hallway towards him.

"I know watcha mean, pal." A second voice chimed in with the first, getting progressively louder, "So, whend'ya think Kohaku's gonna come down 'ere? 'E's been up in Boss Messer's study all day."

"I dunno. Bet 'e thinks 'cuz 'e's Japanese an' a nin, 'e can do what 'e wants. It's annoyin', that's what." So, Kohaku was in the study? That must've been the light on the third floor. Vino felt a twinge of something in his gut; so, the bodyguard hadn't been leading him towards his employer, but instead straight into the arms of Kohaku. Maybe he would've praised the guard's final trick, somewhere deep in his mind, but he found he couldn't care less.

When the fourth and fifth of his victims had passed by the doorway that acted as his hiding spot, he was swift in slitting their throats. It was almost too easy, taking down the men. He wondered vaguely if this Kohaku was merely a separate individual hired by Messer, or if he was the leader of the goons. Either way, Vino found delight in brandishing his weapon. All he had to do was coax the location from this Kohaku's lips and he'd go after the one who'd tried to hurt his brothers.

Finding the staircase and slipping past the meatheads was easy enough. The second and third floors had been basically vacant, sans a few now-deceased men in black suits. At last Claire had reached the third floor study at the end of the hall. Light filtered in through the space between the solid oak and carpet. It'd almost been a waste of his talents since he hadn't gotten to use his acrobatics or go all out. Slightly disappointed, Vino opened the door to find a figure clad in dark blue waiting for him.

:.:  
**Jan. 19, 1935; 10:00PM**

A small redheaded child clung fast to Claire Stanfield, now known as Felix Walken. The child of the great Vino was still wide-eyed and innocent, and had yet to be taught the tricks of the trade by his father. Felix was already passing on his legacy, though, through storytelling. To the child in his arms the heavily-edited exploits of Vino, an anti-hero that worked in the shadows, was a favorite series of bedtime stories.

The assassin placed his son in the specially-made bed and pulled the duvet up to his chin. Big hazel eyes bored into his own with curiosity. The five year old sniffled and rubbed his pink nose with a hand. He was still getting over a cold, so Felix had taken off work to baby him. The assassin's eyes traced the features that made up his son: a big smile, chubby cheeks, almost amber irises, bright crimson hair. The former Claire Stanfield ducked down and pressed a kiss to the half-asleep boy's forehead.

"What did Mr. Vino do when he saw Koharu?"

"Ya mean Kohaku, Tiger? Well, Vino began t' fight him. It was a pretty epic battle, since he wasn't used t' anybody being able t' match him in strength or agility." Felix felt a little proud at retelling his stories, and was glad that the boy still believed them to be works of fiction.

"So, Kohaku was like mom?" The words made the former Claire Stanfield choke up the tiniest bit.

"Yes. Like your mother."

"Was Kohaku a good guy too?" Felix nodded once more, his chest tightening. "So then why were they fighting?"

"We—they worked for different people. Kohaku also had a secret, ya see. It was somethin' that could've gotten him in big trouble with his employer. Vino found out in the middle of the battle—"

The boy interrupted Felix before he could finish. "What was his secret?"

"Well…"

:.:  
**Nov. 8, 1928; 12:46AM**

The blue-clad figure was no doubt the Kohaku Vino had been hearing about. The man was lithe, if not a bit slim for a man. His ninja garb was loose and baggy, presumably to allow for a wide range of movement. A blue facemask and hood kept the man's identity obscured. Judging from the man's small stature and name, he was probably Japanese like the meatheads downstairs seemed to think.

Vino stepped into the room, politely shutting the door behind him. His expression turned playful. Why not have a little fun at the ninja's expense before killing him.

"So you must be the great Kohaku that I've been hearin' so much about." There was no verbal answer, only the slightest incline of the ninja's head. "Not gonna talk? That's kinda rude don't ya think?"

Kohaku was sitting on the desk at the far side of the ornate study window close to his right side for a quick escape. Vino sat down in a chair near the door and gave the room a once-over, whistling. Everything was made from a heavy oak topped off with a dark finish. The glass of the cases and such was frosted with little decorative swirls inside. The bookshelves were littered with a fine array of messily-stacked encyclopedias that looked like they'd been leafed through more than a few times.

"Ya know, this place ain't half bad. I'd be pretty damn proud if I could call this my office." There was again silence from Vino's mysterious companion. "So, where's your boss? He leave ya t' do all the dirty work for him, eh?"

The tiny man before him inclined his head again. Vino got up from the chair and crossed the room in a few long strides. Kohaku jumped off of the desk and shifted his position into a fighting stance. There was little room for more conversation. The redheaded assassin had already whipped out his knife and jabbed it towards the ninja who danced out of the way like a seasoned veteran. In that simple move, Vino had already learned more about his opponent than most could do with words. This guy didn't mess around.

"So, what you're sayin' is that the fat bastard's somewhere else…"

The ninja gracefully dove underneath another jab of the knife and shot a quick fist back, which Vino backed away from. He had the advantage of longer limbs, and thus, a farther reach. The ninja followed up with a sweeping kick that would've nicked the assassin's chin had he been anybody else. But the redhead was practically the god of this world, and he stopped the foot in its arc.

"… and that I have t' go through ya first?"

Vino clenched the foot in his hand and tried to throw the ninja out the window, but the smaller man caught himself by stretching both arms out to grab either side of the sill. Draped halfway out the window, Kohaku was still not fazed in the slightest. It was refreshing to see somebody that could at least give Vino a workout and the assassin was eating it up. Suddenly the blue figure darted at him with incredible speed and the redhead had to parry three quick jabs to his ribs and a kick that actually breezed against his side before he could dodge it. Sadly he couldn't do his normal tricks in such a confined space.

This guy was good, Vino had to give him that. But not good enough. Kohaku couldn't block the knee that rammed into his stomach and sent him reeling. He did, however, manage to whirl around to avoid the knife that aimed for his jugular. Then, with a huff, the ninja dived out the window behind him. The assassin peered out the window, thoroughly entertained. He didn't look down, but instead up, just in time to see a dark leg disappear onto the roof.

Using his acrobatic skills, Vino maneuvered himself out the window and onto the narrow ledge beneath it, before leaping up and latching on the edge of the roof. He then kicked off against the outside of the house to flip gracefully onto the roof and the figure trying to escape him.

As though sensing Vino, Kohaku rolled to the side so that the assassin's heavy boots hit shingle instead of a back. The ninja then pushed himself into some sort of squat. He still must've been feeling the effects of that kick; Vino hadn't exactly held back. The redhead was panting with excitement and no doubt grinning like a maniac. How long had it been since he'd had a worthy opponent?

"You're pretty good, ya know that? Better than I've seen in a while." The assassin crouched as well and prepared to spring at the smaller man. "Too bad you're in my way!"

Vino leapt at the ninja. The ninja propelled himself forward in a roll that placed him directly underneath the assassin. Balancing on his hands, Kohaku threw a kick out at the man in midair. Vino shot a hand out and used the very same leg to stop himself. Kohaku broke away by spinning on his hands and whipping a kick at the redhead with the other leg, then jumping back a good few feet. The man specialized in evasion and defensive techniques, but his offense was a little weak. The assassin's eyes as he back flipped out of range of a punch.

The knife in his hand glinted as it was once again thrust towards the ninja. The smaller man didn't dodge. Instead, the screech of metal hitting metal echoed across the rooftop. Vino grinned at the weapon the ninja had pulled from seemingly nowhere. It was a small, curved blade with only one sharp edge; he recognized it was some sort of Japanese weapon, but couldn't place the name.

"Don't think that little knife is goin' to save ya now!"

Vino's grin only grew wider as the two sprang apart then darted back at each other. The clangs rang out on the rooftop as each blade met again and again, pausing only when one party or the other dodged instead of blocking. Each time the ninja's weapon—a Kaiken, his mind supplied—met his little knife, sparks flew. It was almost artful, and Vino found himself actually making an effort in this fight. The duel between Japanese dagger and American knife lasted only minutes before the assassin darted forward and grabbed the smaller man's slim wrist, stopping the Kaiken only inches away from his neck.

The man wasn't built for strength and that as his weakness. Vino, on the other hand was far stronger than most men, given his training. Kohaku struggled in Vino's grip, never once pulling back, but instead trying to push the knife forward until it met flesh. It was strange that one so suited to assassination work would instead become a bodyguard for a criminal. No matter. Vino pulled the man forward, only to throw him back onto the rooftop. The assassin then landed on top of the other to straddle his hips, earning a loud 'Hmph' from the figure. The redhead then leaned in to peer down into the eyes of the bodyguard, finding them to be something unexpected. He used his hand to brace himself on the ninja's chest and leaned in closer.

His right hand met something less firm than pectoral and Vino found that the tips of his ears were beginning to turn red. What the hell?

:.:  
**Jan. 19, 1935; 10:13PM**

Felix's son's eyes went wide and he bolted up in surprise. "You mean Kohaku was a girl the entire time?!"

The redheaded assassin nodded and patted the boy's head. "Yeah. It left Vino pretty surprised, too. Turns out that 'Kohaku' was her actual name in Japanese. She'd actually been hired 'cuz Messer thought she was a man."

"That's really," the boy broke off to yawn, "cool."

The boy in the bed was beginning to close his sleep-filled eyes. The assassin didn't want to keep his son up all night. He also didn't want to reveal anything accidentally. The boy was beginning to get astute and draw parallels between real life and the stories of Vino. One day the child would become the next Vino, but until then he wanted the little carbon copy of himself to remain innocent.

"Ya should go t' sleep, son. It's getting' late."

The child fought against heavy lids to ask his father one last important question. "Dad? Does Ms. Kohaku die?"

Felix shook his head as he rose to turn out the light. "Not in this story, Tiger." When the redhead turned around his son was already out like the lights themselves. The man then snuck out and closed the door quietly behind him, only to be faced with his wife.

:.:  
**Nov. 8, 1928; 1:01AM**

Peering into the eyes of the recently-discovered woman beneath him, he shivered at what he saw. Up until now, the image of a short, slim Japanese man with dark hair and eyes had fixed itself into his mind's eye. Then he saw the fierce golden-hazel eyes glaring up at him from the crack in the cloth facemask and the tiniest strand of white hair that'd escaped. Vino's left hand reached out and grasped the hood and mask combo before ripping it off unceremoniously.

A furious blush darkened her cheeks attractively. Those golden-hazel eyes were narrowed at him from underneath white-gold hair that was long in the front and short and curly in the back, and thoroughly ruffled from hiding it under a hood. Had it not been for the smudged blood at the corner of her mouth it would've looked like they'd just gone a round underneath the sheets rather than on a roof. Vino then remembered just where his right hand was and licked his lips. How could he proceed past this delicate situation? He wasn't choosy about the gender of his victims, but he _was_ choosy about how he treated the women. Never had he touched one inappropriately. He'd just have to kill her quickly.

Vino pulled his hand from her breast and instead let it languidly wrap around her neck. He leaned in even closer until the tips of their noses touched and began applying a gentle pressure, which grew stronger and stronger as moments passed. "Ya gonna tell me where your boss is, Doll, or am I gonna have t' squeeze until ya pop?"

The woman then spoke, voice slightly scratchy from disuse. "I'll never tell you anything, Vino…" She gasped and tried to pull away his hand with her own, but his grip was like a vice. As his hand clenched tighter she began to struggle underneath his greater weight. So, she knew who he was. Maybe it was his telltale fiery hair… or the fact that he reeked of blood.

"So, y'know who I am. Interestin'. Can't say that it'll save your life, though." The redhead's hand clenched still tighter, so he could feel the tendons beneath her delicate skin tense. "If ya tell me now I'll make it painless," he cooed. It was better than misleading her any saying he'd let her live. It was rude to trick a lady.

She panted and he could feel the warm breath tingling on his cheeks, misting in the air. Her hands weakly came up to press against his muscled chest, as though he would even budge at her attempts. At least she was struggling to the very end, something that he admired in a hired bodyguard. "I'll never tell you anything. I'll die loyal," she snarled at him. She was perhaps the bravest creature he'd ever faced as well, willing to stare Vino the assassin in the face and not give a damn. She was fearless and the redhead found himself wondering what he would've met this creature outside of battle. Maybe he would've proposed to her.

The woman's face was beginning to redden and Vino found himself fascinated with the thin trail of saliva that made its way from the corner of her mouth and travelled down her chin. Her struggles weakened to the point of almost nonexistence. It was then, when he was confident she was near death, that the unexpected happened. Something hit his jaw. Hard. Hard enough that he could hear a 'pop' and his head was sent reeling to the side. In that moment her hips gave a powerful surge upwards and he was flung from her! What a woman; she'd hit him!

It was also in that moment that Vino stumbled back to his feet as she was struggling to even sit upright, delirious from lack of air. When her fist had connected with his jaw, there'd been something—proof. This girl had managed to deal him pain, proving that perhaps she wasn't merely some specter in this never-ending dream. Kohaku shakily stood up and grasped at her throat, greedily sucking in air.

Vino pressed his tongue to his lip, only to taste something metallic. The little ninja had also managed to split his lip. She dropped her hand from her throat. The hand shaped bruise marked her as his target. Vino licked his bleeding lip and smirked.

"I take back what I said earlier. You're damn good!" The redhead's deep brown eyes widened in exhilaration as he charged her, only to have her drunkenly stumble to the side. She was weak now, and they both knew it. He aimed another hit towards her head, which she only barely managed to escape.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you not to hit a girl," she rasped fiercely, adding her own weak punch into the mix.

"My ma taught me equality among the sexes; sorry kitten, but I ain't gonna let up 'cuz you're female!" Vino charged forward again and scored a kick on her lower abdomen, sending her flying backwards.

She managed to catch herself on shaking legs a few feet behind where she'd started. "Good." The statement threw him off a little. "I'm sick of the boys treating me like a weakling!" Kohaku threw something at him, which wrapped tightly around his arm. A chain with a weighted ball at the end.

Vino, weapons enthusiast, grinned at the sight of it. "Kusari-fundo, eh? Not bad." He grabbed a hold of the chain and yanked her towards him using it. "But it's very easy to counter."

"Only if the user's incompetent. Maybe I meant for this to happen!"

The woman's smirk caught him off guard. She looked so self-assured in that moment that she was being pulled towards him by her own weapon. Then he saw a flash of light and only had a moment to react before a sharp blade skimmed the chain on his arm. He'd used her own weapon to block her attack in a moment of genius. The Kaiken was stopped after an eighth of an inch of penetration by the closely-packed chain links. The woman had still managed to draw even more blood, further cementing the proof of her existence in his mind.

"You knew I'd pull on the chain to bring you closer." Vino's hand gripped her wrist nearly hard enough to break it. "You're just getting' more interestin' by the moment, Kohaku." The redhead then pulled her into what could've been a lover's embrace, had he not been gripping her hard enough to crush her lungs. Her back was against his chest, and her ear against his lips. "Tell me your name."

"Why should you care?" The blonde in his arms struggled, only to get a reprimand in the form of his arms tightening around her chest. "I-it's… A-Amber," the woman panted out.

"Amber," he tested the name on his tongue and found that he liked it enough to repeat it again. "Well, Amber, I'll be sure to tell my brothers 'bout ya." With that his arms constricted her. Amber cried out in pain and let her head drop back onto his shoulder. "Goodbye, Kohaku, Amber." There was no way to escape… unless… The sounds of the roof door opening and gunshots rang out on the rooftop.

:.:  
**Nov. 8, 1928; 1:41AM**

Amber's sensei had a good sense of humor. When she'd first began her martial arts training with him he'd given her the name that she'd be called for the rest of her years training under him: Kohaku. The name translated to 'Amber'. Of course, it was nice that Kohaku was a unisex name and Japanese gender-neutral pronouns made it easy to forget that she was a lesser girl, especially since she could kick the asses of most of her senpais. Amber had never suspected she'd have to use the name again when she returned to the US, but necessity dictated it. The name Amber was too feminine and would attract unwanted attraction in her line of work.

Instead, she'd used the name Kohaku as her moniker. Amber was always careful to bind her breasts and wear fairly loose ninja clothing to disguise the truth, and she never spoke a word, lest she reveal her true identity. Eventually she'd been roped into becoming a bodyguard, spy, you name it. And the secret had never slipped; not once, until now. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was damning Vino as she was walked towards the hidden room underneath the staircase of the first floor.

Her boss, Darren Meyer, slightly chubby and losing his hair, was furious. "No wonder you lost to that third-rate assassin! You're a fucking woman!" Something flew from his desk and shattered on the floor right next to her. The goons that'd both saved her and damned her had both since left. "There's no way in hell you're getting paid after this!"

Amber still managed to look down her nose at the taller man, the sick criminal, before her. She knew exactly what was coming next and had prepared for it. She placed her hands in the billowy sleeves of her ninja garb and felt around for the hard object stitched into the fabric. Her thumb pressed over a little button.

:.:  
**Nov. 8, 1928; 1:30AM**

The door to the roof slammed open, just as Amber was beginning to lose consciousness. She thanked her lucky stars that the idiot henchmen had arrived before the assassin behind her could finish her off. She hadn't realized then what her mask being off actually meant. The thick muscles wrapped around her disappeared as their owner actually did a flip off the rooftop, no doubt those were the acrobatic skills he was said to possess. He, however, whispered a promise into her ear before allowing her to drop.

"I'll be back for ya. Just wait."

Gunshots sounded somewhere close, but it was still a little fuzzy as the double lack of oxygen was catching up to her. Her throat hurt like hell and her ribs protested with every breath. She was sure at least one of them was cracked. The blond watched as the blood-covered shadow flipped off the edge of the three story roof with a sort of numbness.

"Boss Kohaku?" The barely-there voices of the meatheads were brought to her attention as she gave them a dreamy smile.

"Huh?"

"Are ya a woman?"

Damn! Her delirium snapped just like that and she was propelled back into the waking world, where she began coughing and hacking uncontrollably. She massaged her throat to no avail. The thugs approached her cautiously, guns pointed at the roof shingles for the moment. Would they shoot her? Instead, the closest, the one named Sal placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Are ya alright, Boss Kohaku?"

"Yeah. Ya look pretty ill."

Amber was surprised that they hadn't already killed her. After all, she'd lied to them about her gender and had basically been tricking them for every day since her joining the Messer faculty as a bodyguard. Her confusion must've shown because Sal spoke up.

"I don' care if yer a woman or black or somethin'; I've seen ya kick more ass than I care t' remember. 'T don' matter t' me." Amber gave him a soft and weary smile.

"Thank you."

"Ya do realize that we still have t' take ya t' boss Messer, right?" The second one, named Clark announced.

The woman resigned to her fate. Normally she'd have somersaulted off the roof just like her crazy opponent and used her ninja skills to get away. But not only did she have a possibility of crossing paths with Vino again if she did that, but she was too tired and would likely break her neck in her weakened state. She nodded and allowed the two meatheads to escort her downstairs.

:.:  
**Nov. 8, 1928; 1:43AM**

Messer's face turned red with fury at having been deceived. "You're fired!"

Amber's head was spinning, but the statement didn't really have that much of an impact. Sure, there went her spotless record as the bodyguard-slash-assassin, Kohaku, but she as Amber didn't give a damn. The blonde turned her eyes towards her boss and smirked, actually smirked.

"Does it look like I care?"

Just then, the sounds of two loud thumps startled her. Messer didn't seem to have heard them, lost in his rant about the place of women. The ninja stared at the door of the secret room and couldn't help but wonder if Vino hadn't found the entrance underneath the staircase. He would've had to take out Clark and Sal, both of whom had been ordered to guard the door.

Amber sighed and turned her attention back towards her former boss calmly, not even acknowledging the door that opened in the corner of her vision. Messer had turned his back to her for some sort of dramatic effect, still rambling about something she couldn't be paid to listen to. A warm hand clapped on her shoulder and she found herself flinching ever so slightly. She turned towards the man next to her, his bloodstained finger pressed against his lips to tell her to be quiet. What a surprise Messer would get when he turned around.

Vino, now that she could see him in light, was a handsome man, maybe early twenties. His hair was a shock of fiery crimson, though it was hard to tell if that was just the effect of the copious amounts of blood in it. His eyes were a cool, earthy brown that were slightly mischievous. Amber didn't find herself scared of him, since if he'd wanted to kill her he would've already. It would've been all too easy. Amber's finger clicked once again on the little button of the device inside her sleeve.

"So, you see, girl-," Messer turned around then broke off as he saw the newest addition to the room. "You!" The greasy man pointed at Vino and began sputtering.

A strong arm wrapped around Amber's shoulder and she was crushed against a warm body. "So, I hear ya fired this girl." The redhead turned to her. "That means we're no longer enemies, Amber. Be glad that I won't have to kill ya now!" Vino gave her a surprisingly kind smile.

"Ummm… Thanks?" How was one supposed to respond to that?

There, in that dark little room hidden under a staircase, Amber decided to step aside and let the assassin have his way for once. She'd been fired after all. With a devious smirk she brought the little device from her sleeve, revealing a tiny tape recorder. She pressed the play button, only to have Messer fire her all over again.

"Handy lil' trinket ya got there," Vino commented.

"It is. You see, I was fired. This means I no longer have any obligation to protect you from threats. This is proof that I wasn't involved in your death in any way." Amber turned to walk out the door but stopped just short. "Oh, and I left five minutes ago, according to my follow up report—exactly at 1:50AM."

"Kohaku, you coward! Get back here and protect me, you stupid girl!"

Vino, casual despite being covered in blood, sauntered right up to the gargantuan man behind his desk and smirked. "Now, is that any way t' treat a lady?"

Amber left the room and rested against the door, listening to the pained screams of her former employer on the other side. She'd seen how Vino worked before and had stumbled upon one of his killings in Ogden a while back. He didn't just kill somebody; he completely fucking destroyed them. Taking a deep breath, the girl found that she could live with leaving the scumbag to his death. She knew about it all: the drugs, the sex, the violence. Messer deserved to die.

The blonde stepped over the bodies of a few of the thugs she'd worked alongside as Kohaku and stared at the beautiful grandfather clock in the foyer. 2:00AM, exactly. Amber said goodbye to her former job and walked out the front door of the Messer home. She could live with the guilt of doing that much. She could live with the guilt. Maybe.

:.:  
**Nov. 8, 1929; 2:29AM**

Vino stepped from the room underneath the stairs, soaked head to toe in a fine layer of red mist. It was time to begin the cleanup and head back to the station in Chicago for his shift. The red man stared at the clock in the foyer, which gave a single chime to announce the half-hour mark. That gave him just enough time to use the shower and finish off the seven henchmen he hadn't caught yet—not in that order.

Underneath his arm as the only slightly rumpled folder that proved Messer had been coming on to the Gandor Family. The hidden room had been almost an exact replica of the study on the third floor that he'd first fought Amber in, desk with files included. This desk, however, contained all of the files from his illegal dealings. Bribing politicians, murder sprees, organized hits, bootlegging, drug running, arson, vandalism—all were documented in that desk drawer and he was only too happy to keep the secret door wide open for the police to find. It was the least he could do since he'd given them a hell of a mess to clean up.

It was time to board the Rail Runner and go back to his conductor work. Maybe he'd take another week off once he got back to New York.

:.:  
**Nov. 8, 1928; 8:03AM**

Claire Stanfield began his shift bright and early with an equally bright smile to accompany him. He stood at the entrance to the third-class car punching tickets and mentally cataloguing the destination of each person. Hands giving him tickets eventually began to blur. He was heading to Detroit, them to Ogden… her to New York. The hands that handed this ticket to the young conductor were familiar. He'd recognize any that had the ability to inflict damage. They were delicate looking with short nails that looked like they'd at one time been chewed on. Two of the knuckles were badly bruised, a testament to their epic fight on the roof.

The redhead looked up to see that she wasn't looking at him, but patiently waiting for him to stamp her ticket. Claire smirked and handed her ticket back. "One ticket to New York, huh… Amber?"

The blonde's head snapped up and golden-hazel eyes met deep burgundy. He could see the gulp that worked deep in her scarf-covered throat. A red hot blush seared across her lovely cheeks and her hand twitched at her side. But the woman quickly recovered and gave him a pleasant enough smile. She could easily have become an actress.

"Of course, sir." She took her ticket back form him and walked calmly into the car. "Thank you very much."

Claire was highly amused and was still laughing a little in his head at her reaction. He would have to strike up a conversation with her later. Maybe he could convince the lovely hellcat to marry him, and he could bring her to meet his brothers and Firo. That would be interesting, Claire mused as he stepped inside the car. The train began moving sluggishly from the station. Then again, Amber herself was pretty interesting.

:.:  
**Jan. 19, 1935; 10:20PM**

Felix Walken's eyes narrowed at the look Chane was giving him. His wife, though mute, could speak a language all her own and right now her eyes were searching his for something. It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong telling his son about Vino. The stories were heavily edited, and eventually he'd come to take over the family business anyways. The golden eyed woman tilted her head to the side, almost as if to say, "_Is it really wise to tell him about these things?"_

The redheaded assassin shrugged. "I dunno, Chane. He'd have found out sooner or later. I guess I wanna introduce him t' the idea while he's still young."

That was enough for the beauty, as she nodded and gave him a warm smile. She rubbed her swollen abdomen and began the walk down the hall to their shared bedroom. Claire Stanfield/the Rail Tracer/Vino/Felix Walken chuckled and followed her. Chane was perhaps even more interesting.

:.:

_**Fin.**_

_**A/N:**__ There! Another addition to the Baccano Archive. Please note that I haven't read the novels, and therefore don't know much about the story past the anime other than what was on the wiki and tv tropes. Please also note that I may or may not make a full-fledged story from this regarding Amber past the meeting with Vino, depending on _Your_ votes. Yes! _Your_ votes! Go to my bio and vote now!_

_1) Claire meets up with Amber after the events in Chicago and decides to pursue the young woman, much to her chagrin. However, she is untrusting of men and is less than pleased by the affections of the redheaded Romeo. (_Multi-chapter. Would eventually end with ClairexChane because I love that pairing to pieces.)

_2) Kohaku and Vino meet again, enemies once more. Circumstance has saved the woman's life once, but now she's on her own, cornered by the most feared assassin in the world. Her only choice is to fight back and pray that she sees the morning light. (One-Shot)_

_3) Do nothing. I like it as it is._


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